


Rearranged

by bolide_belle, GlowAmber



Category: Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Multi, Roleswapped Tangled, Sort of canon character death, emotional abuse and neglect tbh, its not always pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolide_belle/pseuds/bolide_belle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowAmber/pseuds/GlowAmber
Summary: Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun grew a magic golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured.... (Tangled Roleswap. Rapunzel's not the one in the tower, this time!)





	1. The Work of the Baron

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a funny thing between me and Joy and has turned into a full idea that we can't resist. She's co-creating and doing all the edit work, so please thank her immensely for dealing with my never ending love for run on sentences! 
> 
> There will be some child abuse/neglect, both of emotional and physical, but I will put warnings on those chapters. The Baron and Gothel have a lot in common, unfortunately!

From a distance, he could see them ascend to the hilltop, a glittering mob of torchlights and relieved cries. He knew they were touching his treasure with their grubby unappreciative hands. There was no mistaking that it was what they were taking, what they had been looking for. The rumor of the Queen’s troubled pregnancy had reached far and wide, so he even knew why they were taking it. 

He had hoped to keep it from them; he had no love for the Castle and its Royalty, no loyalty to them, and no pity for the woman who struggled to do the one thing women were actually good for. The only thing he cared about was the river of light and guards streaming away and back to their Masters to deliver his treasure. Like it was theirs to hand over. Thieves.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This could only complicate things, drastically, he would have to steal it back. Somehow.

\-------------------------------

It took several days to plan, and even longer for the time to be right. His window of opportunity was infinitesimal, but he was very good at calculating. The guards followed set patrols and did not stray from them. That more than allowed him to slide through the shadows and spaces until a flick of his wrist had the door of the Royalty gliding open. He came from the balcony, the safest approach, and went straight to the crib.

Already, liver spots and wrinkles had taken his skin. His hands shook as he reached down, mindful of the noisy toys that lay around his feet, to pull back the soft blanket. All he needed was a little to erase his aging.

_“Flower, gleam and glow… Let your power shine…”_

The room lit with the soft magical glow, power thrumming as it stirred to life before him. He just needed a lock, that was it. He was far more steady and at peace as his joints relaxed and felt his aches and pains leaving him. From his satchel, he retrieved a pair of scissors and stretched out the still glowing strands. The amount of hair was staggering for a fresh born and he narrowed his eyes before continuing to sing, low.

_“Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine…”_

The scissors snapped shut louder than he would have cared for and, abruptly, he felt the years lash back at him. His shoulders sagged as his back viciously reminded him of his age, his real age, pain racing through him once more. He was incredulous. The hair he held was devoid of magic and was brown while the rest of the infant’s mane glittered gold still.

It was just his luck that the noise of the scissors and of his recoiling hiss of pain had woken it, set the baby into a wail. The regents were only feet away in their bed and beginning to stir awake, he had little choice. His body creaked and struggled as he scooped the thing up from its crib and raced to the balcony out. This wasn’t ideal, not by far, but he would have to cope.

\-------------------------------

It was ridiculous how much this small thing wailed.

He held it in one arm, its swaddling wrapped loose enough around its body that one little angry fist waved around erratically. The screams were starting to make the little face go purple with rage, which was… jarring when compared to the golden hair that framed its face. The golden hair he’d stolen this little annoyance for. 

It took him a moment to debate, to weigh the pros and cons, before he settled in one of the chairs with the baby cradled in both arms. How did one calm infants? He had never cared to be around them, even temporarily. Children were noisy little devils that tore everything up and raced about making trouble. So he struggled for several moments before experimentally bouncing the child, trying to imitate the few mothers he’d witnessed. It took him far longer than he liked, but the crying started to subside. Though, he wasn’t sure if it was because it had cried itself out… or if his bad attempts at rocking had succeeded.

He leaned back in the chair with the infant settled in the crook of his arm, enjoying the quiet as it settled finally on the building. This wasn’t the best location for him to raise the flower, it was still fairly close to a village, but it was abandoned and people thought it haunted. It would have to do. Here or there cobwebs and dust lay thick on almost every surface. He could see parts of the walls crumbling, but he had scouted this place before and knew several rooms of this old ruined castle were still viable.

Decent enough to raise a child in, he supposed. Better was the tower to the back, structurally sound and easily barred. It would not be hard to lock it away, safe and sound, as there was only one door up. 

The babe made noise again, a soft sound not unlike cooing, drawing his attention back to the thing with brows raised high. A round little face with large brown eyes, still rimmed red and watery from its earlier fit, and that precious magical hair. 

Who would have thought they’d make a tea out of the Sundrop? And who would have guessed it would not have just healed the Queen, but taken root in her still growing child? At the very least, he was grateful she’d birthed a boy-- He didn’t much care for children, at all, but boys were a touch more tolerable than girls.

He would just have to make sure no one found his Sundrop again. Ever.


	2. The Tales of Flynnigan Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first look at a pair of young thieves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joy is a delight and I appreciate her doing all this edit work. Also I binge wrote all last night so this is fun.

They knew without a look behind them that someone was following them. It was a tickle at the back of their minds, a weight that was pressed lightly on their shoulders. With well-practiced moves, they disappeared into the crowd and then under a stationary wagon, pressing into the wheels for cover.

Neither of them needed to talk to know what to do. Ever since they met, back in the orphanage, they’ve had an understanding and a bond. When the disgruntled man they bumped into a few streets over stopped by the wagon and pivoted, trying to find them? They both held their breath in unison as they counted out the seconds in their heads. 

_Five, four, three, two, one…_

Like their marks always did, the man groused and grumbled, but he turned and walked away. He didn’t think to look down, he just recognized that he had lost them. Together, they breathed out. Their eyes met in the darkness under the wagon, different shades of green that glittered with mischief and youth.

“What an idiot,” the one with short curls declared, shuffling out of their hiding spot and offering a hand to the other, “Showing off all that coin in the street. He was begging to have it taken!” With their arms crossed over their chest and their chin lifted, they look like a boy. The dark curls, cropped close to their nape rather neatly, help that illusion.

“How much did you get?” The other dusted off their knees before holding out a hand insistently, “C’mon, Lance, divvy up! I’m starving!” 

Lance smirked and dug into their pockets, the telltale jangle of coins making their partner almost salivate. It had been a few days since they’d found a good mark, even longer since they’d eaten. The sight of a few coppers surrounded by a few silvers just made their small stomachs gurgle.

They fell into step with one another, away from the crowds and back towards the smaller shops on the fringe of the village. It wasn’t a fortune, but no one out here was rich. Every day, everyone here scraped themselves along and starved a little more each day. The crops were weak, the animals thin-- there was nothing of value to trade or sell. For them, at least, this was just a pit stop.

The starting point had been the orphanage they’d left just months ago, packed up and disappeared from in the dead of night. 

Their home of so many years had been overcrowded, with many of the younger children starting to starve as the nuns tried to keep them all going. There wasn’t enough to go around… It hadn’t been a hard decision to make. How many of the older children had done the same? Picked up and ran off to the capitol in search of a better life? Maybe they had gone a step further by leaving so much younger and by … well.

A hand ran through cropped brown hair, the edges choppy from the knife still. How many of those kids who had run away were girls? ‘We’ll be smarter,’ they promised each other as they hacked at their hair. Little boys survived longer, got away with more, and it gave them a better disguise. A better way out.

“Everyone’s going to know about us, someday.” She said, later, their stomachs full of bread and broth. “Flynn Rider, and Lance Strongbow.” Her head tipped against Lance’s, fingers threaded through her best friend’s, only shaken a little when the darker haired girl laughed.

“It’s just lucky no one remembers those old books, yea?” 

Those old books were her favorite, and Lance knew it. They’d read those books back to front together until they were worn out and read them aloud to all the other children who would sit still long enough to listen. They could quote every scene and every line from all sixteen of the fantasy novels. 

Lance had just put that in the past, however, in favor of surviving for the future. Flynn? She was still hoping for something… more.

There had to be more in store for her than just being a pickpocket. She wasn’t Rapunzel Fitzherbert the orphan anymore, she was Flynn Rider the Amazing and someday people would be falling over themselves to know her! … And, maybe, just maybe, her parents would want her back, someday. 

She rubbed her fist over her eyes, forcing back a sniff, to get to her feet. The cobblestones were cold under them and bit with their rough edges. This was nowhere for them to sleep, they were too exposed to the elements and people. And if Lance noticed she had started to cry a little, the other girl said nothing and just stuck her hand in her pocket. 

They were too in tune to have uncomfortable questions.

“We should find a spot to sleep.”  
“And maybe pick the next town?”

Her face split into a grin as Lance pulled her hand free of her pocket, exposing some more coins. Nestled between the coppers and silvers was a single bright gold coin, and she gasped aloud when she realized it was there. 

That was a lot of money, they could probably hitch out several towns over and get real close to the capitol!

“You cheat! You were holding out!” She swung a fist at her shoulder and her friend cackled, not even defending herself. There was a relieved glint to her gaze, though, and Flynn pretended not to notice it. 

“Was not, just didn’t want you to start buying sweets or something.” Lance’s face was still bright, and she pressed the coin into Flynn’s grasp, “But we got enough now, yea? Let’s get outta here. We can eat for a few days off the last silvers and then this… This is our ticket out.” 

Flynn’s grin couldn’t diminish at all as she stared at it, the metal bright and almost glowing under the light of sunset. A sun was stamped onto it, rays of fiery light stretching out to the edges of the circle. 

“Corona.” She breathed out, “We’re going to Corona!”


	3. The Tangle Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At five, Eugene learns a lesson about his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is absolutely child abuse, both physical and verbal, in this. I absolutely apologize. Joy actually had to help me with the dialogue because I could not bring myself to write it.

Time could not move fast enough in the tower for either the boy nor the man raising him. 

The Baron was a large and intimidating man that had little patience for raising children. He was more suited to pouring over his tomes in an attempt to soak up more magic. Babies and toddlers had him at his wit's end and for the first years, he dreaded every moment he had to spend with the flower.

Eugene had cried constantly the first year and a half. 

He was always hungry, dirty, lonely-- the list went on and on. It gave him the shivers just remembering the needy screaming that woke him every night. The boy was loud enough that he had finally just moved him up to the tower and stayed in the rooms below. If anything, the endless crying helped convince the neighboring village that the ruins were incredibly haunted.

It wasn’t as if the boy was unhealthy. He made sure he was fed enough to keep relatively chubby and clean enough that he didn’t wince away from the smell of him. That was enough, surely, he didn’t need to coddle the little brat. Extra affection would only spoil him, and he only needed the flower to survive. He had already separated the babe from the Sundrop, mentally, before he’d stolen him away. Eugene was a tool, not a person, not something to care about more than whether or not he was capable of functioning.

As the little flower grew, he only touched him when necessary. Hugs were rejected outright, he had no time for the boy’s early eager attempts to play with him, and Eugene never tried to come for him for comfort after a nightmare after the first time. The Baron was grateful he was a very quick learner and that he took punishments to heart. He never had to beat him for a second offense, once was always enough to get the message across.

The absolute longest he’d allow contact was during the nightly ritual of caring for what was actually important-- Eugene’s hair. Even then, it was minimal. Every night, he sat him down and pulled a comb through his locks until they shone like sunlight. He had sung the first years but as soon as the boy could speak clearly, he had taken up the song in his stead. 

There was just one issue with caring for him, one that grew steadily day by day.

The mass of golden hair showed no signs of slowing and grew at a rate not normal for any normal person. He should have expected that as even he knew no child was born with as much hair as the flower had been. It spread through the tower and along the floor inch by inch til, at age five, it trailed past Eugene’s heels. That just made the process of caring for it incredibly tedious.

And for the child, well.

Eugene bit back another yelp as the comb hit a tangle, the boy’s eyes filled with tears but his spine straight. He fought hard to not tremble or shake, fearful of the scolding he’d get for moving. He knew better. 

His Father had never understood how to properly care for such long hair and he dreaded when the sun went down. He’d be called to sit on the floor, then, forced to hold perfect posture that his young body strained against. In his memories, he recalled a time that this didn’t hurt and that it had last only minutes of his nights. Now, the ritual took an hour or more to finish and left him in quiet tears.

He hated his hair so much.

It was heavy and thick and caught on everything in the tower, snagging and tangling fast. Tonight was especially bad, his Father sat behind him with low muttered complaints as he found another knot to work out. One hard yank had Eugene tilted back, his small fist pressed against his mouth to stifle a sob.

His scalp ached viciously from all the pulling and, finally, he couldn’t choke it down. 

“Can’t we just cut it off?” 

The words came out in a rushed whine, eyes prickling hot with unshed tears. As soon as they left his lips he knew it was the wrong thing to say, the comb stopped in his hair and his father silent and still behind him. There was tension around him, however, and he could feel the rage coming off of the man. It was a mistake, it was a terrible mistake! He should not have said that; he should have known better! The hand in his hair yanked hard enough that he fell backwards against the chair, yelping like a kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry!” He sobbed, automatically curling in on himself as the Baron rose to his feet and yanked again to force him up as well, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!” He didn’t know what about the request had triggered his father’s anger but he had done this, he should have known better! He should have just been quiet, should have swallowed the words down!

“What is wrong with you?! I know I taught you better!” The words rushed over his head and thundered in his ears, his mind consumed with the sheer violence that he knew would come after. He could have been quiet, it was almost over, he could have handled just a few more minutes of combing! His father was only trying to care for him, why was he this ungrateful?

“You stupid boy! You should be ashamed! Do you want me to die?? To leave you alone to rot in this awful world?! You know what would happen if your hair was cut!” Each angry question cut into him, though, not nearly as painfully as his Father’s fist with the comb’s teeth digging into his skin. His hair was magic; he knew that. Father was right that he knew better. All Father was trying to do was keep him safe from the outside!

It felt like hours before his father dropped the comb, broken, in front of him. His sobs had died down to quiet hyperventilating, his breathing rapid and shallow, but the blows had stopped. Eugene dropped back down and curled in on himself once more, his hands tangled in his hair. Everything hurt, but, his sides and back felt the worst. Those pains never lasted more than a few days so he should be thankful, he knew, but it didn’t make it hurt any less for the time being. He could never really wrap his mind around what was going on, just that he was a bad child. An ungrateful selfish child who didn’t appreciate his Father’s hard work. Without his Father, he would be dead.

Or worse. (He never wanted to know what could be worse, what could possibly be worse?)

Over the pounding in his ears, he heard his Father stomp away and he let out a shaky breath. He stiffened again as he heard him return, his words cutting cold into him, “You will brush your own hair from now on and we will never speak of cutting your hair again.” 

There was a loud clatter of something in front of him that had him flinching back, just in case. The only thing that followed was the sound of footsteps to the door and the loud slam of the wood hitting the frame, inciting another flinch.

Eugene stole a peek some hours later, after he woke from an exhausted nap, to find that he’d been left a brush.

He never asked to cut his hair again.


	4. The Ugly Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn Rider puts aside childish dreams for something more realistic.

They never made it to the capitol, but the kingdom of Corona was incredibly vast. It was filled with as many empty spaces and distant dying towns as there were bustling idyllic cities and wealthy manors. Flynn hated it. The rich gorged themselves while those around them starved and the citizens concerned themselves only with their closest neighbors.

On one hand, Flynn and Lance had not gone hungry in years. There was no shortage of pockets to pick or of easy marks to rob. They had grown much wiser and clever with quick fingers to match. They had outgrown the streets to taking on traveling merchants and the foolish nobles; using all of their talents to their fullest to stay ahead of the curve.

On the other, she had seen kids less skilled fall to the wayside quickly. They flooded the cities in search of hope and a new life. They found out fast that the only work they could take was the one job they’d wanted to leave behind. People here stuck to their own, jobs promised away quickly to their nieces and nephews and cousins and good friends. There were only scraps to pick at and none were enough to keep a kid from starving.

Some were stubborn and persisted until they were too weak to keep going, but in the end, everyone broke.

She always found everyone at their weakest and most desperate. 

Not Flynn, no. Flynn wasn’t a vulture-- but Mother was. A spindly old woman with sunken eyes that were far sharper than they had any right to be, old Gothel took in all the street children. She plied them with promises and sugary words and food to fill their bellies, all you had to do was give her a cut of your pickings. You didn’t steal in her city without permission, either. They’d heard rumors of what happened if you crossed Mother, of children who disappeared in the night. Kids whispered it was better to starve than risk her wrath.

When they’d first arrived five years ago, that wasn’t a concern of theirs. She and Lance had torn the city up hunting out the best routes and spots. They discovered quickly where people avoided and where guards patrolled, watching and lurking in the shadows. Mother gave new thieves a grace period, and so on the seventh day, she tried to corner them with an offer. How she’d caught them was still a mystery, but they were only eight and not as clever back then.

A guaranteed bed and a guaranteed dinner, every night, for half their earnings. Less, if they did well enough. It sounded good, almost too good to be true, but they were hungry and unwilling to risk too much.

They did well enough that they only gave her a quarter of their collections. It wasn’t a bad life or a bad start and Mother was plenty impressed with them. They were her best thieves, after all, raking in far more than the other street kids. The only ones who made more were the older kids like Lady Caine, kids who left for the city to actually rob places.

That could be them someday if they wanted. They were skilled enough.

Lance knew how to organize, how to use the other kids to their advantage to get the best pickings. The wealthy townsfolk could scarcely keep up, let alone the guards, and baubles were her favorite to knick. If she felt guilty for sacrificing the other pickpockets, she didn’t outwardly show it. Plus, those kids always walked away with a little more for their part.

Flynn found that she had a knack for distraction and charm, she could talk a mile a minute and whether or not people believed she was a boy didn't matter. She was a winsome child with bright green eyes and a missing front tooth. With a flash of a smile, even the toughest shopkeep was coaxed into giving her a penny candy or three, unaware of the merchandise she also took with her.

That was nothing to say of how their new companion made things incredibly easy. She’d found him as a little thing on their way into town, fearlessly snapping a rock from her slingshot at a snake ready to pounce. His trust was easily hers and his talents were fantastic. A lizard that could be any color and could blend into anything? Pascal was a fast friend that was always on her shoulder or close by, helping her sneak a few more valuables off some schmuck.

Yeah, it was true. They were surviving and flourishing; doing far better than anyone would have predicted for them. It wasn’t enough. She hated it, couldn’t stand it. She wanted more than this, she wanted to go straight and find a place that she fit without tricks and lies. 

Mostly, she hated that she enjoyed this. There was a thrill to the chase and a sick sort of delight when they looked over their earnings for the day. Someone else had put their hard work in and they had just reaped it from them. 

Mother praised them for their talents and gave them larger and larger jobs, but the jobs were getting more and more dangerous. Flynn knew they were just steps away from what Caine did, disappearing for weeks on end to steal things more valuable than a necklace worth ten gold. A part of her was eager for the opportunity, and another part of her was terrified to go further. 

Lance had mentioned, a few times in passing, that they would have to change their tricks soon. They could scarcely pass as boys anymore, their time was almost up. They either had to change jobs… or change jobs.

“Almost time to move on.”

They were sprawled on a rooftop and watching the sunrise, washing the city in gorgeous golds and pinks. Lance’s words had startled her, just a touch, making their private concerns a reality now that they were said aloud. 

“Corona, finally?”

There was hope in her voice that actually surprised her. They hadn’t been there yet, hadn’t made it that far, but everyone said it was better. The gold coin in her back pocket, saved from years and years ago, burned away at her.

Lance gave her a tiny glance. Olive eyes scrutinizing her, before the other girl stared back up at the pink and purple clouds above. “No, I don’t think that’s good. There’s nothing there to steal, really, and the place is still doing that whole… high alert thing, King’s tossing all criminals into the dungeons. Even for minor stuff. Mother’s got some suggestions for further out and, while I hate to agree with the old bat… Maybe it's time to set aside old dreams for new ones. We’re good thieves, why give up what works?”

Her heart sank in her chest when Pascal vibrantly matched the sun and nodded wildly. “I mean, we could be good at other things. We haven’t tried other things, yet!”

“Flynn. We’ve got to grow up.” Her tone wasn’t sharp but those words hurt all the same, “We keep stealing from nobles and whatnot, but they’ve got nothing compared to others-- let’s dream big, live big. Who cares about everyone else? Let’s take what we want and find ourselves somewhere to settle down. Steal enough we never have to do anything ever again!”

Against her better wishes, she was drawn into it, sitting up when Lance did to see her best friend stretch a hand over the horizon. “We could go anywhere,” she continued, enthusiastic, “You and me!”

Pascal’s short hiss got a laugh out of her, Lance amending quickly, “And Pascal.”

“An island, you think? We could own an island. Like, from the books. With white soft sand and impossibly blue water as far as you can see?”   
“Absolutely. We’ll steal as much as we can until we can retire, for good!”

She stared off into the distance, envisioning a paradise for them both. Maybe Lance was right, her parents were never going to come back. She should stop hoping and planning for a future that was impossible, and instead focus on something realistic.

Flynnigan Rider was an adventurer, a hero, famous for his good deeds and rakish ways.

Flynn Rider would just have to settle for infamous.


	5. The Captain's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arnwaldo has a lot to be thankful for. Mostly, he's thankful for his father.

Arnwaldo had a relatively charmed life, all things considered. He had a roof over his head, three square meals a day, and a father who loved him. He wanted for nothing! Or... He should want for nothing.

Being the son of the Captain of the Guard, however, came with expectations that everyone wanted him to live up to. He’d trained and studied with the garrison since he was a little boy, pressed into a neat little space that he was rapidly outgrowing. He didn’t want to be a guard or to take his father’s place in the future. 

And so, at the ripe age of fifteen, he was ducking his responsibilities. He supposed that was natural, teenage rebellion and what have you, but, he just felt trapped by it all. The routines they had him do made him feel claustrophobic and, honestly, a little anxious.

The best place to hide out, he’d found was in the stables. Sure, the straw at his back wasn’t terribly comfortable but, very few people checked in here for him. The horse in front of him, a beautiful white stallion with a blonde mane, made up for the itchiness of the hay. He stifled a groan as the horse lowered his head, nickering at him with his ears flicked back.

“Come on, Maximus, I just need to lay low for a little bit.”

The horse looked doubly unimpressed, if the slant of his eyes said anything, and Arnwaldo dug a hand into his pocket to retrieve a shiny red apple.

“Keep quiet and there’s an apple in it for you?” He waved the apple a little, “Nice and juicy. C'mon, Max…”

Maximus snuffled at the apple before he shook his head, rapidly, earning another groan from the boy hiding in his stall. Why did this horse always have to bargain with him? No other horse was this clever.

“Okay, okay, two apples? I swear you’re smarter than most of the guards we have. Easier to bribe, though.” 

As if offended by that remark, the stallion drew back and snorted loudly. He muttered a curse before pulling the last apple out, juggling to keep the other two in one hand. “Fine! Three apples, and that’s my last offer!”

The horse was truly a good one, but greed won out as he dropped his head to start crunching away at the last offered apple. Arnwaldo set the other two aside, running his fingers along the stallion’s forehead and into his mane. 

“Yeah, man, I know you like this lifestyle. You’re made to be a guard, aren’t you? And I’ve seen what you can do, you’ll be my Dad’s horse someday for sure. He just has to see what you’re capable of.” He paused, venting his frustrations quietly, “What we’re both capable of.”

“... I never wanted to be a guard, I know Dad means well. He wants what’s best for me, he wouldn’t have brought me home or kept me if he didn’t care about me… I just.. I just don’t fit in that way. I hate patrols and standing still, staring at the same spot for hours on end.” Arnwaldo dropped his head back against the straw with a sigh, aware of the annoyed look Maximus shot his way.

One of the other apples was enough to distract him away and he continued, “Oh stop, I know you can’t wait to do all that. I mean, this is the pinnacle for you, right? Horses can only do so much. Pull a plow or be ridden; and here, you get to guard stuff? You’re important. I don’t want it, though, I’d… I’d rather be down in the kitchens.”

He waved a hand, mindful of Maximus’ face, “If Dad could see what I can cook! I’m good at it, really good, and I love it. It’s… it’s relaxing to be down there. I hate doing what he does. People need food to live, right? I’m still helping. It’s just…”

The Captain’s words rang through his head, making him groan as he remembered them clearly. 

_“I only want better for you, Arnie, the kitchens are beneath you.”_

He didn’t feel like they were beneath him. He didn’t have a title, at all, no status or family outside of the Captain to fall back on and that was only his through adoption. His Dad wanted him to have a good stable life, a future to really be proud of, but he didn’t understand that he felt most at home when he was making a meal. He was so good at blending flavors and working spices, he was really proud of that. He just wished his father was, too.

“It’s just not what he wants for me.” He finished his thought, finally, offering Maximus the last apple. The horse flicked his ears before nuzzling into the side of his head, working a startled laugh out of him and a protest, before chomping the last apple down. 

He fell quiet, finally, rubbing a hand up and down Maximus’ side. The fact that he wasn’t alone had completely escaped him. He was so focused on his venting that he had missed the quiet footsteps into the stables. The sudden knocking on one of the stalls had him jumping in the air with a startled yelp, unable to swallow the sound down.

“Arnwaldo. Come on out, son.” 

There was no mistaking his dad’s voice and no chance he could hide any further, so he pulled himself to his feet. Over the short stall wall, he could see his dad looking in at him with a soft expression. He had expected disappointment that he was skipping lessons, again, not that fond fatherly gaze.

“H-hey, Dad… Sorry, I-- I just…”   
“You know you have training at noon with the others. You’re late.”

Still, his hand was gentle on his shoulder as he came out. Tugging him in close before his hand found the back of Arnwaldo’s head and he leaned in to touch foreheads together. Already, at fifteen, they were almost the same height which made this easy. He took in a deep slow breath, relaxing a little with the familial gesture, and felt less worried when the Captain pulled back.

“Let’s get you in line, and we’ll talk about this later.”

\-------------------------------

He was stunned, the next day, when they finally had their talk.

“I had to pull a lot of strings, Arnie, and I expect you to do your best. It’s going to be a lot of lessons and training-- You’ll need excellent behavior, to learn how to manage households, schedules, and to learn the Royal line and to recognize all the Corona nobility. You’ll still have to train your swordsmanship… but…”

“But I won’t be a guard.”

Arnwaldo sank back in his chair, his legs feeling like jelly as he stared up at his father. Could it be really true? Lord of the Bedchamber was not something he’d ever even considered doing; it was an honor, a privilege given only to nobility. To serve the King so closely…

“It’s just an apprenticeship for now, of a sort. You wouldn’t be actually serving His Majesty for several years, Arnwaldo.”

He took in a deep breath, and then, launched himself to his feet with a burst of laughter. “Dad! Dad, that’s… this is amazing!” He had expected a lecture, a stern reproach for letting him down, not this. He couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his father and hug him tight, his chest warm. 

Yes, Arnwaldo had a relatively charmed life.

\-------------------------------

The Queen leaned over the crib, fingers running thoughtfully over the carvings on its side before she tilted her head up to the mobile. Her smile was wistful and mournful. It hadn’t even seen a full night of use, had only housed her infant for a few hours at most. Gentle, she tapped the little sun charm, listening to it tinkle softly in the still and empty nursery.

All she had ever wanted was supposed to be in this room.

And it was vacant.

She pivoted slowly, on her heel, her eyes taking in all the details of a room they couldn’t bear to light up. This tower would have housed their son, their little Prince, and now all it was was a painful memory. It had been ten long years. Ten years of never knowing, of endless desperate searching.

Arianna didn’t even startle when the doors opened to allow her husband in, she just turned to look back up down at the crib. “The Captain tells me his son will be training to join my personal servants,” He spoke whisper-soft as if it was sacrilege to raise his voice in this place. She gave him a noncommittal hum and picked up a little bear from the crib to cradle close to her chest.

“Dear…” The King’s hand reached out and then faltered before dropping to his side again.

She squeezed the bear close to her, her head lowering a little as she remembered the conversation. The Captain had come to her asking a favor. The plea in his voice and the yearning in his face hadn’t affected her decision. Arianna regularly caught the two together when she looked out over the courtyard and their close bond made her heart twist. She could not blame him for wanting to give his son a better life; one he would actually enjoy. 

“He’s a good boy, and the Captain loves him. It… I thought it would be nice.”

He said nothing about how he didn’t need any more servants, or how long it would be before the young man would even be ready, or how he wasn’t even qualified. Instead, Fredrick just moved in closer, arms wrapping around his wife’s midsection before he rested his chin on her shoulder. 

Together, in silence, they watched the empty crib.


	6. The World Beyond the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene finds a new passion at 10, better than wood carving. His father disapproves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Joy is in Hawaii for vacation, so we'll be going on a temp hiatus until she's back! Enjoy the angst until then! ♥

His quill scratched along the paper in quick hurried little strokes, the ink blue and thick. Parts of his fingertips were stained from the making of it, the remnants of the dye he used on his leathers. 

The years had passed quicker than he could have thought, even though each day felt like it dragged. At ten years old, it felt like a blink to know he’d been given a set of leatherworking tools and hides last year. The kit was one of the few gifts he’d ever been given; the others were a set of knives for carving, and a stack of books to occupy his mind. Notably, the Tales of Flynnigan Rider.

His treasures.

The books were scattered around him, some open and dog eared and worn from repetitive reading, others holding down pages that bore his neat handwriting so the ink could dry. His Father would be home, soon, the sun was about to cross behind the town and Father was never home much later than sunset. He wanted to finish this story so he could share it, he wanted to his Father to be proud of his efforts and praise him for his hard work.

After all, he had mastered his letters and he was so sure that this was a good story. It had all the things in his books; far off adventure, a dashing adventurer to save the day, and a wicked villain! If he leaned a little heavy on the books for inspiration, he hoped that he wouldn’t notice. Eugene just… didn’t know what was beyond the town, beyond the edge of the ocean. He had so little experience with anything, truthfully, all he had was the books and the view from his window.

Finally, he sat up and carefully blew on the wet ink to encourage the last page to dry for him. It was a few pages long, his longest story so far, and he could hear the scrape of the front gate outside. Father was home!

Eugene gathered up the dry pages to piece his story together and set them aside in favor of digging out his brush. When the lock on his door finally clicked open, he was sat on his stool in front of Father’s good chair and patiently brushing out his hair.

“H-hello, Father!” His stutter was annoying, he knew, but he tried so hard to keep it under control. He kept his eyes down while his caretaker came around to sit in an attempt to avoid seeing how gray his Father’s hair had gotten and how stooped his back was. A gnarled hand stretched out over his shoulder, silently demanding their nightly ritual, and Eugene placed the brush in his grasp carefully.

“Sing.”

The one word command was all he needed, the boy sitting perfectly straight and closing his eyes as the brush swept over the crown of his head.

“Flower, gleam and glow… let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine... Heal what has been hurt, change the Fate’s design, save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine… what once was mine.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to feel the magic stir to life, he knew the warmth was spreading from his scalp down to the distant tips of his hair. The room was lit with captive sunlight and he could feel it from deep within, pulsing and bright, and it always brought a measure of peace for just a few short seconds.

Once the spell was finished, however, he reached up and waited. Without fail, the brush came to lay in his palm, his Father’s hands steady and strong once more.

“I’ve brought you bread and some roast for dinner.” 

His Father was standing to leave, already, patting the top of his head once as a dismissal. Eugene’s heart leapt to his throat as he struggled, for a moment, to find the bravery to speak.

“A-a-actually, Father? I… I had something I wanted to … to show you.” He was terrified to say the words, even more scared when the man stopped at the doorway to look back over his shoulder at him. Taking up his time was a waste, he knew, he knew he was being selfish and greedy to want to share this. His Father was a busy man, he did a lot to keep him safe! … But it was only a few moments of his time.

“You know better than to pester me, child, so this had better be worth it. Hurry it up.” A hand beckoned him impatiently, the scowl on his face terrible.

He sprang into anxious action and darted over to his Father’s side to offer up the thin stack of pages. “I… I wrote a story! I- I just wanted you to read it, p... please.“ For him, it was incredibly well written. His meager imagination was poured out onto the pages in his attempt to earn praise, even the slightest of smiles would be enough.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the skills, yet, that he thought he did. He pulled from what he knew, what he recognized, and he went pale as his Father went red with rage. He saw him read a page several times over and looked more furious with each sweep of his.

“Why did you write me like this?!” The words were snarled and Eugene flinched away, ducking his head as his hands came up to shield himself out of habit, “What is this nonsense?! Leaving the tower, exploring the countryside?! Fighting your Father??” Every utterance made the boy’s stomach drop further and further, his breathing stuttered.

“I.. I didn’t! I promise, I didn’t!” Not intentionally and never on purpose. He didn’t have the skills to understand what he was expressing in writing, yet, laying out his life in ink to find some balance. His books and little short stories were his escape to a place more exciting and … safe.

It was just that his Father shared some traits with the villains, and such a smart clever man would make a good villain for his story. He hadn’t meant to pour that much of himself onto the page and empty his wounds out like that.

When his Father moved, Eugene dropped backwards and down to avoid a hit that did not come. That only worried him more and he cracked open an eye to see his Father-- “N-noo! Please, Father!”

The fireplace roared loud as the pages fed the flames.

All he could focus on was the way they curled and turned to ash, how the leather of his novels took longer to eat away. His Father’s angry screaming was lost to him as every book and page that could be found just built the fire higher and higher. 

He couldn’t feel his skin, anymore, it was hard to determine if he was still breathing and there. He was seeing and not seeing, completely consumed like his beloved books by the red and orange just a few feet away. Only the sharp sting across his face brought him back to his body, Eugene gasping and wincing all at once.

“You are never to write such nonsense again. The only books you’ll ever be allowed are ones for studying!” 

Without conscious thought, he nodded, his body knowing just how he was supposed to respond even if his mind was struggling. 

“You’ll have no dinner, tonight, you’ve been incredibly rotten. All I do for you, and this is how you repay me? Portray me?! Awful worthless boy…” His Father’s rage fueled angry trailed off out the door, muffled when it shut and locked behind him. Eugene didn’t move until he could no longer hear him, and then, he finally found the strength in his limbs to lunge.

He didn’t go for the fire, but to the rest of his room, charging place to place in desperation. There was only knickknacks left on his shelves, nothing on the mantle, none under his bed, and-- he sagged, at last, his small body curled around a set of books he’d forgotten up in the rafters.

A few had survived. 

Eugene could not be more grateful and anymore relieved to see them. Better, he looked around and saw several leather bound packets of papers-- some of his attempts from days ago while watching the ocean. He gathered them all up and carefully wedged them onto a support beam, knowing his Father would never come up here to look for anything.

He was, of course, terrified of his Father’s punishment for disobeying him, but, he knew he could never stop writing. It may not have made sense to him why he felt better after finishing a story, but he knew he did.

Once he had stopped crying, he sniffled, rubbed his blurry eyes dry, and pulled out a new blank piece of paper. Father wouldn’t be back for several hours and writing was the perfect way to distract himself from the gnawing in his belly. That might have been hunger, or it could have been shame; he’d never purposefully disobeyed his Father before.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from letting the quill sweep the page and letting his mind sink into the familiar relieved buzz. What his Father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.


	7. The Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn Rider and Lance Strongbow are a pair, they're better together. Until they're not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter that has been edited, do enjoy! This marks the last bit of the hiatus and we'll resume around May 20th! Thanks for your patience~

It was not hard, at all, for them to find work. Once they had accepted Mother’s terms, Flynn and Lance found themselves in high demand. Sometimes they worked for other master thieves as back up, other times they were the brains behind an operation against a master thief. The latter was always nasty work, but, it was incredibly invigorating.

Their first loyalty, they were told time and time again, would always need to be to Mother.

Mother was a goddamn fool for believing they could ever put her first in their lives. After all they had been through, Flynn knew for a fact that Lance would sooner drop a job than put her in danger and vice versa. They’d been together since they were young starving children. The old hag who preyed on the weak and dying children? She could fall out a of a tower if it came down to it. The only people they would ever be loyal to was each other.

When she tried to start skimming extra from their jobs and cheat them out of their hard earned coin, the girls struck back. It was small, at first. They simply brought back less and less for her even though it was far over the margin of profits that Caine could give. The suspicious slant to the bat’s gray eyes just made them snicker when they were alone. As the top earners, Flynn didn’t think she could do or say anything. She’d already made the mistake of ripping them off a few times, surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to take it further.

She upped the ante, surprisingly. She really was that stupid. After taking on a royal carriage, they suffered their first double cross. It should have tipped them off when Lady Caine insisted on joining them and providing extra men for the job, but they had gotten a little overconfident. Flynn had sworn and stomped around for hours, angry that after all that hard work (Their hard work!!) Caine had snagged their riches and made off with it.

Compliments of Mother, indeed.

Maybe it was her bruised pride or maybe her ego had grown too large, but Flynn could not let it rest. It was probably Lance egging her on, too, the other woman refusing to let Mother get away with the backstabbing.

They would become the first thieves to separate from Mother and they would do it with a bang.

\-------------------------------

Fingers tapped on the rooftop, the shanty tile absorbing most of the sound but the movement was what alerted Flynn. Ahead of her was Lance with her short hair tied back and a black eye mask pulled across her face. She was bent low, braced and ready to move, her gaze locked on the windows ahead of them. Most thieves would have struggled to make out movement in the dark building, but they were well accustomed to this type of work. Pascal, however, wasn’t and she’d left him behind in their hideout. It was too risky for a third party to be involved.

Lance’s taps were soft, repetitive, and just loud enough on the roof tiles for her to know what the other meant.

Two watches-- first and second floors.

Flynn pushed an errant strand of hair out of her face and then scooted forward til she was by her best friend’s side. Second floor, she tapped in response, neither looking at the other. What they wanted was in the basement, but to get there they’d have to handle the kids on watch. 

She flinched a little at the thought. It would be kids on watch, too, those who were most eager to prove themselves to Mother for their perceived shortcomings.

They moved like shadows over the rooftops, hopping and climbing until they were on the storehouse that Mother used as her base of operations. Lance had told her about a mansion that was were she really lived, once, that it was why she had never seen the hag before noon. Of course that only had served to rile Flynn further, that this woman had all this money and power and had made babies do her dirty work.

Babies to collect wealth for her and babies to guard it. Now that she was an adult, a fresh faced eighteen year old, she could see how cruel Mother’s games really were. 

Neither of them wanted to hurt the kids on watch. They split apart, cracking open windows and sliding in easy and smooth before they dropped them with a single blow to the back of the head. Someone watching from outside would have marvelled at how they did it all in unison, matched pace for pace in their stealth.

She met her downstairs, the boy in her arms probably not more than ten, and Lance shoved the second child at her. “Get ‘em outside,” the other thief whispered, low, “They’re the only ones here.”

If she paused for a moment to look Lance over more closely, it was only because something in her friend’s voice was concerning. Flynn couldn’t put her finger on it, there was just… something that had her on edge. Something felt different, looked different. She was fiddling with something on her belt, looking frequently back at the basement door.

A shooing motion finally had her backing out the front door with green eyes fixated on Lance who was disappearing down into the basement. It was probably instinct that her move the kids two streets down, somewhere more sheltered and soft for them to wake up. Incidentally, it was more safe, too.

On her way back to the building, the ground rocked beneath her feet and then a loud boom almost made her drop to her knees. Ahead she could see Lance in front of a burning building, hands on her hips and a wide grin on her face. At her feet lay a pair of heavy looking bags, clearly filled to bursting with coin.

“What are you doing?” Flynn grabbed at her arm, hissing low, and her friend gave her a tilt of the head. 

“I got a bag for you.” It was said so flippantly, as if there wasn’t people rushing out of their houses to see what was going on, as if they weren’t standing in front of a storehouse burning to ashes. 

“Mother is going to be furious!”  
“Good. She shouldn’t have double crossed us.”

As if that was the end of it, one of those bags got shoved hard into her chest and nearly knocked the breath out of her. “Here. Gothel is going to be searching for us, after this. I think it’s time to split up for now, Rider.” Flynn gaped at her, at Lance’s cheery face lit with flames from the side. Everything felt like it was happening all too fast, she could barely get her footing in time to follow the other thief through the crowd and down an alley.

“HEY! You can’t just say that and walk away! Lance! Lance!!”

Lance was her best and first friend, her first loyalty-- her world. What was she going to do without her? Her chest felt tight and, suddenly, she felt like she was four years old all over again and watching another family walk past her. Was she really being abandoned? Again?

The world spun around her and she stopped following to lean against one of the buildings, struggling to take deep breaths. 

“-ey. Heyyyy, hey, deep breaths, Rider. Deep breaths.” 

The black around her vision started to fade, warm hands on her upper arms rubbing up and down in a slow soothing motion. “C’mon, Rider, breathe for me. I’m not saying we split up forever, okay? Okay? You’re my sister. Best friend.” Lance’s face, sans the mask, swam into her few with the taller woman looking far less casual.

“We just made a lot of enemies working for Gothel, and now … Gothel’s going to be mad, too. Okay? We need to separate for a bit. People are going to be looking for the both of us, we’re easier to hide apart. Everyone knows we go everywhere together.”

She had dropped her bag at some point and was now gripping her friend’s shirt, trying to focus on her breathing. Just a temporary split up? It still felt like too much, too soon, and she pressed her face into Lance’s shoulder to wet it with tears. They had never ever been apart before, not for more than a half day.

“Flynn… C’mon…” Lance was awful with people who cried, she knew for a fact, but she couldn’t help it. It took her a moment before she was wrapped in a tight hug by the other woman, Lance’s cheek against her hair. “Okay, okay, we don’t split up yet. Let’s.. Let’s get out of here.”

\-------------------------------

She really wished she could say that they only waited a few days, that she’d figured out her issue and been okay with being alone sooner. Flynn would lie to anyone, later in her life, and tell them that there had never been a plan to separate. There had never been a need, they were better together, back then.

That no one had ever suggested that they go their own path, at all, to avoid guards and Gothel. There was no guilt to drop at her doorstep, then, no reminder that Lance had been right and they should have split up for a while.

The cold awful truth was that she had clung to her best friend for too long, scared of being alone and abandoned by everyone. She let her anxieties rule her and run her into the ground until it was too late. One wrong move, one bad job… 

Flynn hadn’t properly realized Lance wasn’t with her til she got back to their hideout and spun about to laugh, to bounce around in exhilaration at a job well done. They’d robbed another thief’s new hideout, pulled bags of treasures and trinkets out, and, “Man, they are going to be furious when they se--”

But the hideout was empty, sans her and a worried looking chameleon. 

She absolutely lied about how much she cried that night, devastated and panicked that Lance had gone a different way because she was finally fed up with her. She told no one that when she finally pulled herself together to go search for her wayward friend, it was too late. Everyone was already talking about the dark haired woman on her way to the prison, and Flynn would lie even about that for as long as she could.

It was a shame she was such a bad liar.


	8. The Crowned Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn Rider tries to relieve a family's suffering in the worst way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly unedited! Joy has revised some of it, but will be doing more later.

From her perch on the rooftop, the tile was dyed a deep purple that tinted along pink and reflected the sunlight beautifully. The view from up here? Phenomenal. With a deep breath, Flynn Rider put her hands to her hips and then grinned wildly. The sparkling waters as far as the eye could see, the white stone towering up beneath her, the lush green spread along the ground; oh, it was immaculate.

“Oh I could get used to a view like this…” She sounded a little wistful, and Pascal sighed on her shoulder just as dreamily, resting his chin on his little feet. And then she bounced to the heel of her boots, “Yep, I’m used to it now. Guys, I want a castle.”

Behind her, the brothers groaned. They were the strong silent type, but not the good strong silent type. The dumb type. She could overlook that because they were easy to manipulate and use, and that was their purpose. Dumb malleable muscle. Over her shoulder, she looked back at them, watching imperiously as they worked the glass off the skylight to open up the room below.

Both men were immense and scarred, not the kind of guy you brought home to your family. If you had a family, and one that cared exactly about that sort of thing. She’d heard them cuss and swear and belch and fart and hock loogies further than she could see. All in all, a disaster, your run of the mill typical brainless thug.

Which was just perfect for her.

She strutted over to look over their handiwork, the glass placed a little precariously over to one side, and toed it over a little more out of curiosity. It didn’t fall, but it did wobble a little more. Worth noting. 

“Okay, boys, here’s the plan. I drop down, snatch the crown, you handsome blokes yank me back up, and then we make off with the biggest heist in Corona’s history before the dinner bell. Capiche?” Flynn had a habit of talking fast and grinning the entire time, in order to convey more confidence than she had. It often backfired and set people on edge, unfortunately, and she could already tell it wasn’t failing to annoy the brothers, but that was just fine with her. Really. 

“And the get away?” The one with the eyepatch loomed over her, and she beamed in reply. She had nicknamed him, rather affectionately, Eyepatch. On account of his eyepatch, a striking feature. His brother was Sideburns because really? Those were the only differences between the twin brothers.

She put her hands to her hips again, shrugging, “We use the roof as our escape route, drop outside the walls, and run for the sewers. They’ll never expect it!” 

They both looked at each other before shrugging and gathering the rope to start phase 2.

It took only a moment to fasten the makeshift harness on, but she took her time making sure it was secure and tight before she checked their grip. This is why she hired them, really. They didn’t even strain as they held her weight, as she was a small woman, and Flynn’s grin just went a little sharper. 

Inside, the castle was cooler in temperature and she had to admire the high ceilings as they lowered her down. Everything was so purple and pink with gold shot through it, reminding her of the sun-- but it wasn’t warm and inviting here. Instead, it felt like a tomb that the guards all stood around to protect, to hold their symbol of loss close. There wasn’t anything even sentimental about this, honestly, it was just a hunk of metal and gems fitted for a Prince who was probably long dead by now.

Really, they should move on and let go-- she was just helping them along, benevolent woman that she was. 

Flynn was finally low enough to grab it with one hand, opening her satchel with the other, and smoothly tucked it away. It had a good weight to it, probably solid gold, and while amethysts were not the most expensive stone on the market? Ohhh she could make a killing for the pink diamonds. If she sold it in pieces, after all, and not as the trophy it was. Other kingdoms would actually pay a fortune to have this given that Corona wasn’t sitting in good standing with a handful of them. Shame she wasn’t on better terms with Mother, anymore, either, she could get enough to retire off this.

She paused a little to look the room over and do a little headcount, her finger tapping in the air as she took stock. Five guards, for one crown that no one was ever going to wear? Her eyes rolled as she tugged on the rope to give the brothers the signal to pull her back up. Five guards in the throne room meant she could run her mental math and figure out how many guards were in other places and how many was on patrol.

It definitely put a grin on her face as the brothers finished the hoist, yanking her out of the castle and back onto the roof. She stumbled or a moment, her foot moving to help her catch her balance, and her toe caught the skylight at the last moment. 

How clumsy of her. 

The glass pane twisted and then fell in what felt like slow motion, dropping down into the throne room below with an intense shattering sound that had every single guard turning on their heel to stare. Their eyes went first to the broken glass that had scattered everywhere, having exploded violently, and then at the pedestal with its empty pillow. 

And then they looked up.

Flynn, Pascal, and the brothers were staring back down at them, both groups frozen for several long seconds. Unable to resist, she grinned and wiggled her fingers down at them. “Oh, hello down there! Nice day, isn’t it?” At her sides, she knew Sideburns and Eyepatch were looking at her incredulous. They were completely, ha, taken off guard by her shenanigans and it gave her the perfect opportunity. 

It was just a step back and then she pivoted on her heel, launching herself forward into a sprint. She could hear the shouting from behind her, below her, and didn’t slow her pace at all. This sort of exercise was natural to her, she had been hopping from building to building since she was eight years old. The bulky men behind her? She’d hired them to be muscle, to be her fall-- not to escape with her.

Small and lean, she bent and twisted around to keep her balance on the roof tiles, then jumped at the last second to catch fingers around a lower flag pole. This was definitely the tricky part. With a deep breath, she began to swing back and forth to begin momentum.

Sideburns was shouting at her, or at his brother, who knew, and the guards were calling out their positions. With a soft exclamation, she pushed forward to let go at the last second and throw herself at the next lower roof. 

It was drop that had her stomach rising in her body, flooding her body with adrenaline. This was what it was to feel alive! She closed her eyes, just for a second, her hair buffeted up around her face and her arms high, and then she hit the roof with a tiny yelp. 

Of course her boots would slip a little on the tile, but her arms airplaned out to help her find her balance. Pascal digging his claws into her neck out of terror and alarm had not helped her, that was for sure, and she gave him a dirty look as he eased up on her skin with a little throaty squeak.

Despite how many times things had gotten out of hand before? Flynn had hope. It should be an easy escape from here, especially if her hired hands were as slow as she thought they were.

She spared them a glance as she hopped from the roof to the surrounding guardwall, biting back a bark of laughter. They were huffing and puffing, not built for this sort of long distance difficult run, and were on the last roof with an incredulous glare levelled her way. “Come on, boys, keep up!” Flynn goaded, waving an arm at them. They didn’t need to know, yet, that the departure from their plan was all according to her plan.

Flynn heard one of them groan before they back up to get a running start, but she wasn’t waiting. The grass was a soft thing to fall on and she hit the ground rolling, then pushed herself up just as the first brother cleared the roof. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few guards coming out of the castle gates, all on foot, but her smile didn’t fade. It was going well, she needed them to come out and--

Her eyes went back to the brothers as she kept backing up, keeping an eye on the show. They both dropped to the ground, one after another, with a pained grunt. Pascal looked up at her as she looked down, and they both shared a brow lift and smirk. 

“Hey, hurry up!” She cupped her hands around her mouth as she yelled at the Stabbingtons and she could pinpoint the moment the guards realized she was alone. They did a comical double take, putting all of their attention on the out of breath muscle heads who were a far easier catch. 

Pascal made a triumphant squeaky growl and she put a hand up to high five him, only to pause in wide eyed alarm at the sound of thunder. Or, rather, thundering hooves. 

“RIDER!”  
“Ooh that's not a good sound…”

Coming out of the gate was a bevy of royal guards on horseback lead by a man with a red plumed helmet and a gorgeous white stallion-- lovely horse, shame both rider and horse shared a look of hatred and fury. “Oh, that’s not good sound at ALL.” She muttered, taking a few steps back then twisting to start running. Flynn could smile later that they knew her name, and knew her by sight; more important was not getting caught.

She knew to avoid town, thankfully, she’d plotted her course of escape already. No, she went around it, through the fields that would slow down her pursuers. The fields were thick and the ground soft, making it difficult for the men to see her and keep up with her. From there, she hooked hard right to the bridge out of town. The grunts and shouts from the guards certainly kept her adrenaline pumping through her veins, her heart about to beat right out of her chest while her lungs burned for air. She’d pushed her limits, before, but this was taking the cake!

A backwards glance was risked as she got near the bridge, and she huffed a little to see that same white stallion on her heels. He looked even more angry, if that was possible, and his rider stood up in the saddle to brandish a sword to point at her. 

“Yikes! Pascal, I think he means to hurt us. Rude.” Pascal turned red in reply, but she was grateful it was just that last guard.

Admittedly, her plan had had complications. The horses had come in a little earlier than she expected, and she hadn’t planned on being this tired so soon. It didn’t change what she was going to do, however. 

The town bustled at this time of day, people coming and going with their wagons and carts to take their produce and merchandise back home. She appreciated that they were all creatures of habits, because the bridge was incredibly busy and packed with traffic at the this time, making it hard to get the horses through.

Which was exactly what she wanted.

Flynn popped up on the bridge wall, running as quickly as she could while trying to avoid being jostled off the side. “Excuse me, pardon me, coming through!” It was just water below, but she didn’t really want to get wet. It’d be harder to run if her clothes were heavy with water. She held her arms out at either side as she picked her way along, having to swing around some of the carts that were too tall.

When she reached the other side, she turned around to walk backwards a few steps. On the other side, she could still see the Captain of the Guard struggling with his horse, both looking enraged. With a bark of a laugh, she waved goodbye to them and disappeared into the nearby forest.

Time to enter the final phase.

\-------------------------------

A good half of the castle had crumbled or opened to the skies above, torn down by years of neglect, and the other half had slowly succumbed to nature as vines crept up to reclaim the space. There was something oddly charming to it, broken glass and toppled stones and all, with the ocean just to the back to frame it out. It was a little picturesque, if she was honest. This wasn’t the sort of castle she wanted to live in, it was too destroyed, but she did stop at the edge of the surprisingly sturdy guard wall to admire it.

This part of of Corona was less travelled and, like the castle, abandoned. Sure there was the neighboring village, Eltena, but even it was half empty and left to rot. More importantly, almost none of those people ever came to the castle to visit. Something about it being haunted? Flynn rolled her eyes and pulled herself up the stones, not sure if the iron gate would open at all given that it was rusted over pretty hard.

The sun was beginning to drop behind the castle and it shone into her face, highlighting the warm tones in her skin and hair, as well was casting long shadows along the building. Even at the edge of dusk, there was something the place that almost called to her. 

Her eyes caught on the tower, the tallest section of the old place, and she paused. Something had glinted gold, there, but the more she looked the more it seemed like the last rays of sun on the glass panes. The odd mystery solved, she shrugged and then ambled along the wall. Flynn followed it along for a little bit, knowing the best place to hop off and get into the old building. 

She’d been here, before, when planning out her escape route and the heist all together. Had she gone inside? No, but she’d gone close enough to check out the structural integrity of it and make sure she could actually use it. A few rooms had looked decent on the first floor, so that’s where she was headed.

Flynn popped down towards the back, just out of sight, and then maneuvered through a crack widened by ivy. It may have been easier to go through the front door, but she never trusted that.

There was something about walking through a front door that left her unnerved, even in old buildings. She’d chalk it up to being the easiest place to get ambushed and who knew who else had seen this building and thought ‘Ooh perfect place to hide!’ 

“Well, Pascal, this is us.”

Her chameleon hopped from her shoulder to the floor and immediately went white as he made a face, looking up at her. The ground was covered with dust, dirt, and rotted out flora. She wrinkled her nose as Pascal pointed out little white things that looked like tiny branches, waving a hand to dismiss. “Okay, okay, so it’s not the greatest place to sleep but it’s temporary! And we can clean up a bit in here. Make it habitable.”

Pascal gave her a dirty look, a ridge lifting as his head tilted, and she pursed her lips. “You’re going to help if you want to sleep inside, don’t start that,” Flynn look around, carefully, then shrugged, “But we’re not going to sleep in this room, let’s find a better one.”

It took a little bit of work to find a good space, the north wing was almost completely open and full of gross. The south wing, however? It seemed that someone had been there, squatting, and she should have figured that. She had figured that, but, the dust had settled enough that they hadn’t been by recently. And she was grateful for that little small miracle since they’d left behind a usable space for her to take over.

Several doors she opened, and then closed, dismissing them on first sight. Storage rooms, empty rooms, broken furniture-- most of them were fine but she was hoping for a bed to use. Maybe one with a proper functioning window, too, if she could be picky. Pascal was equally as picky and that was no surprise, her friend had taste and standards. Not that she didn’t, she’d learned to sleep on muddy floors and in freezing cold temperatures with just another person to keep her warm-- but she wanted to move past that.

She leaned against one of the door jams, debating between two rooms, and her thoughts went back to Corona. A Castle… and an island. Her lips twitched in a wry smile, it was all of her childish dreams wrapped in one unattainable package. What would Lance think of her now, stripped down of her dreams and hopes and just pushing ahead constantly. Like a proper thief. Retire? How, where? 

“Oh, Pascal…” She pushed away from the wood frame to shoulder open the door, “A big old bed with moth eaten blankets for us tonight. Pillows look a touch moldy, let’s avoid them.” And avoid her thoughts. Flynn took the time to shake the blankets out before she flopped on top of them and opened the satchel, openly admiring the fruits of her labor. Even in the dying light of day, the crown caught the last rays and glinted. She could see herself in the polished gold, her dreamy expression reflected in each facet of the gems.

A scolding squawk snapped her out of her reverie, and Flynn huffed, shoving the crown back away. “Stuff it, Pascal, I’m not gonna keep it. It’s our ticket out, I know that. A sunny island with no worries, here we come!” Appeased, the chameleon faded from bright alarming red to his normal green and climbed up the wadded up blankets she was using as a pillow to rest by her face. 

“... Night, Pascal.”

He made a noise in reply, eyes already closed, and she breathed out a sigh before letting herself slip to sleep at last.

Several floors above her, the wood creaked and groaned. Pascal stared upwards, unsettled, as it sounded like someone was walking around. He looked to his sleeping companion, croaking out a worried note, but she just rolled over in her sleep. The noises stopped after a few minutes, and he chalked it up to an old building. 

It wasn't until long after they were both sound asleep that a low male voice began to echo through the castle, singing soft.


End file.
